Into the Shadow
by R3d3mpt10n
Summary: A tale of Bretonnia, telling of the Duke of Mousillon's actions to regain the honor of both his realm and his father by travelling to the land of Norsca to slay those that constantly attack his lands.


**Authors Notes:** Sorry if this is really short, it's only supposed to be a precursor to the whole quest and introduce the main group of characters. Also, as I said before, I'm not sure about how I rated it, but just in case, rated it as Mature for violence. I hope to get chapters up at least every two weeks. Thanks and feel free to be harsh in the reviews.

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_Many years ago, rumors told of a Knight that began gathering an army, of its purpose none could tell. This army, this muster of forces, was not large, nay, but their ranks were full to the brim with men of honor, courage, chivalry. Men of Bretonnia. Still, none could find the reason of their gathering, and try as they might, could not unearth the secrets of their mysterious general. This is the story of that general, Duke of Mousillon, and his journey that would be engraved into the legends of generations to come._

"Long ago, my father, the once Duke of Mousillon disgarced his realm and refused to help his people in their most dire time. He refused to sally forth his knights in an attempt to drive back the attacks from Norsca. I remember the day clearly, as I was in the Port City of the day that my life was shattered and my personal war began... "

_Death filled the air, bodies littered the streets, the blood of the fallen flowed like a river through the port. Of course, no one saw their black ships wading through the high seas, the surf crashing against their wooden hulls, no one alerted the town militia of the impending danger, and for that they paid the price. Wave upon wave of marauders leaped from those ships, the sails swirling in the wind, their ranks smashing into what little men-at-arms could be assembled. Every defender was quickly overrun and cut down just as brutally as the man that stood by his side, his life flashing before his eyes as the blade of his enemy dug into his skull._

_The marauders rampaged through the streets, breaking into homes, raping any women that might lie within, and kidnapping any children that ran from their grasp. Their attack was relentless, sparing none, leaving nothing that could retaliate, for this was their way of life, and blood was their currency, death, their business._

_The stalwart defenders could do nothing to save their homes or their families, and so turned to their last line of defense, a retreat to the safety of the Duke's fortress that overlooked the sea, only to be chased by the marauders that began to flood from the city, their mighty horses trampling over those that ran, and their blades cutting down those that dared to turn and face them once more._

_And in their last breaths, their last moments, the villagers of that once mighty port wondered where their Duke or his Knights presence had been called to in their time of need, a time when their assistance would have been greatly appreciated, as it was sure that their skill and might would have driven back the hordes of attackers that both pillaged their homes and burnt them to the ground. Yet nowhere were they to be seen, and in a last act of disappointment, the gates of the fortress stood defiant, ignoring their pleads of passage, allowing the few remaining villagers to be dragged away to become slaves._

_The attack was finally over... the forces of chaos leaving as quickly as they had come, stepping back into their black ships with a good amount of plunder and slaves, ready to return to their savage homeland to renew their ranks and supplies for the next attack on Bretonnian soil..._

"Your story touches a sore part in my life Gabriel, as I was there at the port when these events occurred, fighting for my own life as well as the lives of others, but your plans to renew the honor of Mousillon and your father speak of going to the center of Norsca itself. That is pure madness if not suicide at the same time!. I will not readily send my knights or myself into a quest that ensures our death…" the voice echoing from out of the darkness of the room.

"Paladin Renout, I would never take an initiative to put your men into an inescapable danger, as I know you would never do to same me. I ask from all of you that sit here today, to aid me in my search., to retrieve what I have lost! And I have no doubt in my mind that every one you that glares at what you call my madness has lost someone close to you in that Age of Strife, that time when Chaos seemed to rule our lands! I ask for your trust and your arms…"Gabriel said aloud, reaching out from the darkness, plunging a dagger into a map that lay between the men. The three paladins leaned from their chairs, looking to where the dagger had punctured the map, seeing that it had been plunged into the middle of Norsca, the land from which their aggressors had come.

Paladin Renout looked to his brothers beside him, looking into the very depths of their eyes, as if he could see into their souls. Then he turned back, interlacing his fingers and setting his hands on the table before them, nodding before he spoke.

"Paladin Guillame, Cristophe, begin mustering your forces. We will meet the Duke at this port in five days time and meet with his own muster. I bid you a good day m'lord." Renout said, turning away from the Duke, walking from the darkness of the room and into the light of the outside world, his brothers following behind.

Gabriel watched as they walked away, standing from his own seat as he reached over and retrieve his dagger from the table, pulling the weapon from the wood and paper that it had been plunged into. He began to look around, seeing the elaborate tapestries, the heraldry of the Dukes before him, and the stained glass windows of the Great Hall allowing the morning sun to enter the hall in a plethora of wonderful colors. He bathed in the light before walking out of the door himself, wanting to return to his fortress before he departed for Norsca in a week's time.


End file.
